Charcoal and Paint
by jessica k malfoy
Summary: Harry never came back to Hogwarts, but Ginny did. So did Draco. This was written for the D/G Fic Exchange over at Livejournal and yall... I won FIVE awards. FIVE! I can't even believe it! I won Best Overall Story, Best Fluff, Best Kiss, Best Portrayal of Ginny, and Favorite Line. I can't even comprehend this. Okay I'll shut up now so you can read it
1. Chapter 1

Hurrying through the halls, Ginny skidded to a stop in front of the Fat Lady, hissing "Mistletoe!"

"Out past curfew?" the Fat Lady asked, eying Ginny suspiciously.

"No, it's Saturday evening and not quite eleven." She waved her freckled hands expectantly. "But I will be late if you don't let me in."

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being followed, Ginny scrambled through the hole as the portrait lazily opened, hurrying up to her room where she sprawled across her familiar bed in the Gryffindor girls' dorm.

The just-about-lumpy mattress had become more familiar to her than the narrow twin bed at the Burrow and for that, she was grateful. She had spent too many summers alone in that bed, pining away for Harry. She refused to let her face burn in embarrassment at that thought; no, she'd done that enough. She had told him when he had returned home after the war that she was no longer in love with him. Harry had gone off to save the entire wizarding world – and succeeded – but the problem was he had gone. And in the time he was gone he had transformed from the boy of her dreams into the man who saved the world. She didn't want the pressures that came with loving the man who saved the world.

And it had finally set in that he didn't want her either.

She had never been more grateful when Harry decided not to return to Hogwarts to make up his final year, but to hire a private tutor for his N.E.W.T.s. Hermione and Ron joined him. They'd asked her to join, but it felt like the offer was out of duty, not desire. She'd said no so quickly her mum and dad stared at her, but thankfully they hadn't questioned her quick decision. Ginny knew that in order to remain friends, she and Harry needed to be apart for some time.

Not nearly as many people as Ginny had expected were back at the castle, but that was okay; that meant there were less people to question her choices. It gave her a new sense of freedom to be there alone. No siblings. No Golden Trio. They hadn't been there during her sixth year, but she had spent the entire time worrying, wondering why all her efforts hadn't been enough to make Harry stay, foolishly stealing swords from the Headmaster's office (_not_ Snape's office, which she still refused to acknowledge despite the fact he had died heroic. She'd seen the memories. They all had. But it was hard to erase the physical scars of the punishments she'd received under him.), reviving the DA, making sure the younger children weren't injured too badly. It never stopped. But then one day it did. Despite the damages to the castle which were also reflected in the people who lived within it, things were slowly returning to normal.

Far too many people had asked her why she'd returned to school, why she wasn't married to the wizarding savior. Her friends, her family, everyone she knew expected her to be popping out Harry's children by now.

She had tried. Merlin, she had tried.

Rolling over to her side, Ginny tried to clear her mind, letting her thoughts drift to the smooth back she had accidentally glimpsed less than an hour ago and allowed her fingers to skate across the sensitive skin of her stomach before remembering that it had been Draco Malfoy's smooth back.

She'd been in her favorite spot, minding her own business, so it wasn't like she was spying on him. In one of the tallest turrets of the castle, what was once a small peephole had been blasted out during the battle, leaving a great ledge that was plenty wide enough for Ginny to sit with her books to study or star gaze, or more recently, spy on Draco Malfoy. That night she had been staring up at the black winter sky, entertaining herself by trying to figure out which star exactly was the second star to the right and whether or not Hercules had truly been man or myth and if there actually was life on other planets. She'd been invited to play games with Luna and several other classmates, but she had declined. Sometimes games reminded her too much of Fred.

Ginny had just decided it was time to return to her dorm because the heating charms she'd cast were wearing off and despite the clear night, fat snowflakes were starting to fall, dancing silently in the air around her. There was also the small fact that a letter from her mum weighed heavily on her mind. Molly had owled to inform Ginny that she should pay Harry a visit as he was still single. Ginny knew that; if he'd found a girlfriend it would have been in every tabloid and rag in under an hour. While she was certain her mum didn't mean it, the letter felt like a hint that perhaps she should go try to tempt him back with her womanly ways. She'd ripped the letter into tiny pieces, throwing them into the fireplace. If only her mother knew that her womanly ways hadn't done a damn thing in her quest for Harry.

But as she stood to leave her tower, the distinctive sound of a heavy door shutting filled the night. Instinctively, Ginny grabbed her wand even though they were supposed to be safe now. But there was no one with her. She was still alone in the turret.

Closing her eyes, Ginny concentrated, trying to recall which direction the sound had come from. Gripping the edge of her seat with her free hand, Ginny craned her neck out, glancing around as far as she could see. That was when she spotted Draco Malfoy. If she'd had a broom, she could have reached him in only a few seconds. He was in the landing next to her, where the great clock stood. He just stood there, looking out into the dark distance. It should have made Ginny nervous, but instead she lowered her wand, watching him. Malfoy finally blinked, shaking his head lightly and moved to lean against one of the heaving railings, angled away from her. Ginny could only see his back and part of his profile.

She'd been just as surprised as everyone else when Malfoy returned to finish his N.E.W.T.s. Not many of the Slytherin's had. There were only fifteen, maybe twenty, in each year now; of all the houses, that one had the least amount of students. The ones who returned were fierce as if they had to prove that whatever the Dark Lord had done, it didn't have a thing to do with them. Ginny admired that. At the Welcoming Feast she'd been relieved to see Malfoy in the Great Hall. It took all the attention off her and the reasons why she had returned to the school. But unlike his classmates, Malfoy was quiet. Even in their classes together, she hadn't heard him say a word.

Ginny grew bored of watching him and prepared to leave again, but stopped suddenly as he pulled his thick jumper over his head because the shirt he wore underneath rose up and Ginny was treated to a momentary view of his smooth, pale back. It intrigued her far more than it should have. His bare back shone brightly in the dark night, glistening against the cold the same way the stars and the snowflakes did; two things she had considered pure and almost holy. Nothing about Draco Malfoy fell into either of those categories, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

She stayed there, crouched somewhere between sitting and standing. She already knew what would happen. She was going to obsess over that sight for a week, and then she'd give in and attempt to draw it, sketching it over and over in the notepad she kept buried beneath her mattress until she was able to perfect it, making Malfoy's back as ethereal as the stars and snow.

Ginny snorted at the thought, louder than she meant to, laughing at herself for letting the poetry of it all cloud her judgment about him.

But he turned at the sound, and even as Ginny dove from the ledge, their eyes locked and for the briefest of moments, Ginny knew that she was on to something.

One of Ginny's dorm mates sighed in her sleep, causing Ginny to snap out of her pretty thoughts about a boy who was anything but pretty. She snatched her hand away from her body, her cheeks heating up at the thought of what she had been about to do. Draco Malfoy wasn't even worth a dirty fantasy.

The following week, Ginny was still trying to put the event out of her mind and not give in to the urge to draw. It had been easy, considering she was finishing up most her midterm papers and projects, but that Friday afternoon the castle had cleared out. Classes had ended until after the holidays, all her homework was done, and most of Ginny's friends had gone home. She had opted not to, simply because her parents would be in France with Bill and Fleur, since she was due any day and both sets of grandparents-to-be wanted to be there to welcome their first grandchild. Besides, she wasn't ready for a family Christmas. She didn't know if anyone was, not with Fred gone. Hermione had invited her to go on a skiing vacation with her family and Ron and Harry, and while it sounded like it was going to be absolutely hilarious, she wasn't ready to go hang around with Harry. Not yet. Probably not ever.

But the holidays must have been more important to people than she had realized this year, because as Ginny walked through the castle with the intention of getting a snack from the Great Hall, she didn't run into a single person. For a single dismayed moment, she wondered if she should go see Charlie and George in Bolivia. No, she quickly decided. As interesting as the dragons were, she had no interest in spending the holidays outside in the cold, trying to avoid being burned or permanently scarred by dragons – or the memories of Fred that were certain to arise.

The snacks that were laid out in the Great Hall were abundant, and she couldn't help but laugh out loud, considering she may as well have been the only student left in the castle.

The four house tables were no longer there; in their place were a few smaller round tables and one long, narrow table on the far side of the hall, filled with food, snacks, Christmas crackers and even two fully decorated Christmas trees. It was nice, she thought happily as she gave in to her chocolate obsession, picking up two pieces of treacle fudge, a cauldron cake and an apple for good measure. She eyed the silver tray of chocolate covered goodies, wondering just how many she could carry without making a mess. Ginny popped a red and green truffle into her mouth, savoring the explosion of flavors – raspberry, some mint and a hint of champagne – as she thought about how nice it was to have the holidays back. The castle still needed some repair, but the decorations were over the top, an effort to eradicate all memories of the last unpleasant Christmas spent there, she was sure.

Deciding that she wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with her sketch pad, Ginny set out making herself a sandwich, layering the freshly sliced ham on two slices of thick bread. She wrapped the sandwich in paper, dropped it and the apple in her bag, then snagged another truffle and a tall mug of hot chocolate before turning to leave.

But as she spun on her heel to exit the Great Hall, she nearly spilt her drink on Draco Malfoy, who was standing right behind her. She slowly looked him up and down, keeping her expression neutral as she tried to hide her annoyance. She'd been fighting with herself all week, refusing to give in to drawing him, but right then, she knew she would.

"Hungry?" he asked, one eyebrow sharply arched, and she couldn't tell if he was serious or just being sarcastic.

"Famished." She reached over to grab another truffle, this one orange with blue coloured sugar crystals on the top, to prove her point.

But he said nothing as she side-stepped him, heading calmly out of the room. Instead of the snide comment she had been expecting, she could feel his eyes on her, burning a hole in her purple jumper. As casually as she managed to leave the room, her mind was racing uncontrollably, and her chest was pounding beneath her ribs. She hadn't been able to get that image out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. It was only the day before that she had decided he wasn't worth her time, much less her charcoal or paper, but suddenly she knew she was going to head straight to her ledge and draw him, just as she had seen him. After all, it was only a drawing. It didn't really mean anything.

When Ginny reached her ledge, she dropped her art satchel to the cold ground, placing her mug of cocoa and treats on the ledge before casting the strongest warming charm she knew. The snow wasn't falling at that moment and she was grateful because it was hard to keep her paper dry since she wasn't fabulous at bubble charms to keep it away.

Sitting down so that she faced the clock tower where she'd seen Malfoy that night, Ginny pulled out her sketch pad and charcoal sticks, immediately losing herself in the strokes on the page. She marveled at the way her memory translated to the page. She wondered if anyone else would recognize the figure on her page as Draco Malfoy. Despite the dark marks of her pencil, the person on the page shone brightly, emitting sadness and lonely that she wasn't even aware could translate to paper, even in the rough beginnings of her sketch.

When she glanced up again, filling in the background details of her drawing, Malfoy was standing there. To her surprise, he was in the same position as he had been the night before, his back to her so that she could only just glimpse his profile. Without taking too much time to wonder why he was back, she glanced down at her page, perfecting the lines of his body, but shading it from memory with the way it had looked that night, with the glow of the stars and snow around it. She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there, except that her cocoa and sandwich were gone and the warming charm was wearing off, nor did she know how long Malfoy had been standing across the way. All she could focus on was how amazing he looked on the page. The night she'd seen him, she had told herself he wasn't pretty. She had been right. He was completely stunning, breathtaking and heart-breakingly beautiful.

On the page, the sky behind him was illuminated by the snow and he gave off a faint glow of light and heat, but it was anything but warm. It was lonesome. Somehow she'd managed to get all of that on the page with a single stick of charcoal.

Ginny allowed herself a moment to stretch, gently placing the notepad on the stone ledge and standing, pulling her arms above her head, hearing a satisfying crack as her back popped. Finding her wand, she cast another heating charm before pulling her jumper over her head, using it to lean against as she settled back in to her spot. The forest green tank top she wore underneath might have looked silly with the snow drifts all around, but with her charm she was plenty warm.

She studied her sketch for a long moment, wishing she knew what her subject was thinking. Was he as lonely as he looked? If she did, she would try to incorporate it. She noticed the pattern in the stars she had placed behind him, wondering what constellation it was. It was familiar, but she hadn't paid enough attention in her astronomy classes to know; it just seemed to fit. Much to her disappointment, when she looked up, Malfoy was gone. Ginny bit back the annoyance she felt, reminding herself that not only was he unaware that she was sketching him but she had gotten everything she needed anyway.

Sighing loudly, Ginny cast a temporary sealing spell over her page so that it wouldn't smear and stuck the notebook back in her bag. Her stomach growled loudly, and as she glanced around, she realized the sun was sitting low in the west. She'd been up there for hours.

Before she could stand, the door to the tower swung open. Ginny looked up in surprise, expecting to find a lost second year who hadn't gone home for the holidays. Instead, the lean form of Draco Malfoy was framed in the doorway. She expected him to turn around and leave as his cool, silver eyes fell on her, but instead he calmly shut the door behind him, staring at her.

"Yes?" she asked testily, unable to stand the tense silence that instantly filled the spaces between them.

"I wanted to see your drawing," he told her calmly.

She wondered if she had ever bothered to pay attention to his voice before. It was the perfect combination of low tones and just raspy enough to send a shiver rolling down the length of her spine – although she credited it to the snow and her tank top. "No."

"Why not?" Malfoy tilted his head ever so slightly, and Ginny could have sworn she saw something akin to a smile playing on the edges of his lips.

She told herself it was a smirk. "Because it's mine."

"But it was of me."

"Deflate your head a bit, Malfoy. Why would I draw you?"

"That's what I want to know."

Ginny could feel his eyes lingering on her freckled skin so she crossed arms over her chest uncomfortably. "I wasn't." She stood to her feet, grabbing her jumper. "And I'm going to dinner." Ginny pulled the purple jumper over her head, not wanting him to ogle her any longer, and when she could see again, he was standing directly in front of her, holding out her bag.

"Want me to carry your bag?"

"No," she snapped, taking it from him and hating the way he made her feel so uncomfortable.

"Fine. I'm going to the Great Hall also though," he told her, that same small smirk playing on the edges of his lips.

"That's generally where dinner is served," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pushing past him. Even though she could hear his steady footsteps behind her as she descended the stairs, she didn't look back. She didn't look at him inside the Great Hall either, even though they were sitting only a few seats apart. Instead, Ginny spent her meal time actively chatting with her Muggle Studies professor about the differences in Muggle paints, knowing that it was one subject Malfoy couldn't chime in on.

It wasn't until Ginny had stripped back down to her tank top and knickers for bed that she realized her sketchpad was gone. After a brief moment of panic, she realized that Malfoy must have nicked it in the tower. Her panic soared within her. She could handle him seeing the portrait of himself, but there were a lot more things in that sketchbook she didn't want anyone to see. Besides the self-portraits she had experimented with, there were drawings of people that she wanted no one to see. The previous school year her art had been her only escape – and the only thing that had kept her sane – and Dean Thomas had come back into her life, more than willing to help out in any way he could. So had Michael Corner, she remembered, blushing furiously. While she had never shagged either one of them the naked drawings would suggest otherwise.

Jumping from her bed, Ginny grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on, throwing her robe over herself and ran from the room, barely remembering to grab her shoes as she did so.


	2. Chapter 2

The castle was cold and drafty so late at night, but Ginny didn't care. All she could think about was getting her art pad back from Malfoy. He might tell people what he'd seen in it, but no one would believe him unless he had proof. Then she'd be in trouble.

She nearly flew down to the dungeons, stopping short when she reached the hall where she'd seen nearly every Slytherin in the school over the years. She had no idea exactly where the entrance to their common room was, and even if she did, she didn't know the password. Something that felt suspiciously like crying bubbled up inside her, but Ginny fought it down. It wasn't quite curfew. Most likely, someone would come along and she could simply trail them in.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you."

Draco Malfoy's voice cut through the cold darkness of the dungeons.

"Where is it?" she demanded hotly, spinning around. "Give it back."

"It's in my room," he told her, stepping from the shadows. "Why are you so upset? Everything in there was quite good."

"I know it is," she snapped through gritted teeth, clenching her hands into fists. "But it's mine. You had no right-"

"To what? To see the drawing of me?"

She sucked in a noisy breath. "Where is it, Malfoy?"

"I told you, it's in my room. If you want it, go get it."

"Fine." Ginny felt like she was going to collapse. "Where is your room?"

He studied her so long she wanted to scream at him. "This way." He nodded curtly and walked past her, down the long narrow hall of the dungeon until he reached the very end.

She didn't even comprehend what he was saying as he muttered a password and the stones slid open, revealing a large room that almost glowed green.

"We're under the lake," he told her casually, noticing her expression as she took in the room. "It makes for interesting lighting."

"I just want my sketchbook," she said, trying to keep the desperation from her voice.

"I looked through it," he told her, continuing to walk down a narrow hall that jutted off to the left of the common room. "Everything is very good. I'm just not sure why you decided to draw me. Everyone else in there seems to be someone you knew... intimately."

If Ginny could have curled up in a ball and died of embarrassment, she would have, but she wasn't about to do it in front of Malfoy. "I saw you in the clock tower when it snowed last week. It was just an interesting image." She hoped she sounded casual, not confessional.

Malfoy tapped his wand against a tall wooden door and it swung open for them.

"Why do you have your own room?" Ginny asked suddenly, frowning.

"Because we have no head boy this year; there aren't enough of us."

"So you just took the room?"

He nodded, shameless. "No sense in letting it go to waste."

He held the door open, and Ginny reluctantly stepped in, wishing she'd remembered her own wand as he shut the door behind them.

Her art pad was lying open on his bed, far enough over that Ginny would actually have to touch his bed to reach it. As she stepped forward, she realized it was open to a self-portrait she had done. She had been so angry at that time, and it had come across in the deep reds she'd used to shade her hair and even in the golden browns she'd chosen for her eyes. While it was a good drawing, Ginny had never been sure if it was a good self-portrait. The person on the page was absolutely gorgeous and there were days that Ginny doubted she was even pretty.

"That's my favorite," Malfoy told her calmly. "Well maybe my second favorite."

It took everything she had to keep her face from erupting in flames. She didn't have to ask what his first favorite was. That smirk at the edges of his lips was back and she knew it was the sketch she had done of herself the day she had decided she would try nudes. There wasn't that much to see in the drawing, but it was obviously her and she was obviously naked. The thought of Draco Malfoy knowing what her breasts looked like was not a good one.

"That's great," she said flatly, moving across his bed to get her sketchbook as quickly as she could. Ginny snapped it shut, standing back to her feet. "Don't touch my stuff."

"You drew my constellation behind me."

She stared at him blankly for a moment before it hit her. The stars in her portrait of Malfoy were the Draconis constellation. "Yes, well, it fit."

Malfoy was silent as she moved across his small room, grabbing the door handle. It wouldn't open.

"Damn it, Malfoy," she said, turning around to face him, done playing games. "Let me out."

For the briefest of moments, Ginny thought she saw disappointment flash over his face but before she could decide, he lifted his wand lazily and the door popped open. She had to jump back to avoid being hit, but scowling over her shoulder, Ginny left his room. She headed back to their common room, and once she was there, she paused long enough to see if all her drawings were still intact.

The self-portrait Malfoy had been referring to was gone.

Spinning on her heel, Ginny dashed back to his room.

The door was open, and he was still leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on her the instant she entered as if he had been expecting her. "Give it back."

"I tried to talk to you about it," he told her, his voice infuriatingly calm, "but you took off."

"There's nothing to talk about," she hissed. "Give. It. Back. Now!"

He shook his head slowly, though his eyebrow was cocked in surprise. "I want it."

"No! You can't have it. That was private, not for everyone to see."

His pale eyebrows arched lazily as his eyes swept over her. "I'm not everyone. I'm Draco Malfoy."

"It definitely wasn't intended for you to see," she said, feeling desperate and uncomfortable.

"I'll buy it."

"It's not for sale!"

"How much do you want for it?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Ginny told him quietly. "There's no amount of money I would accept so that you can ruin me."

He shook his head, his blond hair floating gently. "I'm not trying to ruin you."

"Then what do you want?"

"The picture."

"Besides that," Ginny said, trying to inject all the steel she could into her words.

"To know why you draw nudes. To know why Ginny Weasley, the golden child of Gryffindor, has drawings of naked classmates in her sketchbook."

"I'm not the golden child," she said crossly. "That was Harry."

"Potter's gone," he said, sounding suspiciously like he was trying to stifle a laugh. "So now it's you."

"It's not, but that isn't the point. If I tell you will you give it back?"

"Maybe."

"Promise."

"How about if you answer all my questions, then I'll give it back?"

"Deal," she said immediately, relief filling her.

"Have a seat," he said, smiling slightly. "I have a lot of questions." Malfoy opened the cabinet on the wall as she sank slowly into a high-backed, dark green chair, watching him. "Here." He tossed her a bottle.

Ginny looked at the label, wondering why he would be stupid enough to hide liquor in his room. Didn't he know that he was still being watched, especially after what had happened last year? "No questions about Harry though," she said quickly, uncorking her bottle.

"It's a bit late for bargaining, don't you think? You already said yes." He sat down across from her and uncorked his own drink.

"Fine," she said bitterly, her voice moving to monotone autopilot. Without waiting for his question, she answered the one that seemed to be on everyone's mind. "Yes, last year was hell on earth at the school but I chose to come back anyway. Everyone thought it must have been extra horrible for me because Harry wasn't here, so why would I come back this year when I could be with him? I'm supposed to be married to him by now, having his children, so who cares about N.E.W.T.s?"

"Is this really what people ask you?" Malfoy said mildly.

"That's why I'm back though. Because he's not here. I'm better off where ever he's not. I need to concentrate on me for once in my life, and if I have to do it here, then I will. At least I'm alone." She felt herself slump back in her chair, shocked that she had said those things when she'd spent so long trying to hide them, and horrified that she'd said them to Malfoy.

"I have no interest in Boy Wonder whatsoever. Only you, so it must be your lucky day."

"Oh yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "How lucky can I be?" Ginny tucked her legs beneath her and pulled her robes over them, trying not to blush at her emotional outburst.

"You don't have to wear your robes," he said as if she hadn't just treated him like her personal diary. "We're not in class."

"I'm fine," she said shortly.

"First question," he said, taking a long drink. "Why draw nudes?"

Ginny looked at her own bottle and lifted it to her lips before answering him. "Why not nudes?" she challenged. "The human body is art."

He nodded slowly as if he were deciding whether or not to believe her. "Didn't you date both those blokes?"

"Yes. But not when I was drawing them. I drew them last year."

"They just posed for you?"

She nodded, swallowing another gulp of the sweet liquid. "We needed something… some kind of escape then. I need my art."

For a second, Draco looked pained. "I suppose."

"Next question," she said, wanting to get it over with, waving her hand at him in a hurry up motion.

"Why them?" His tone was flat and guarded, but to her ears, it also sounded strained.

Eying him suspiciously, Ginny took another sip from her bottle, letting the liquid warmth fill her. "Because who else was I going to ask? I'm comfortable with them. They're comfortable with me." She could see the next question on his face, written clearly in the lines that formed when his eyebrows were drawn together and his lips were tense. It wasn't the question that surprised her; it was the fact that she could read him well enough to know what it was that bothered her. Draco Malfoy was pretty much an expert at keeping his face a blank mask. "Go on. Ask it," she told him as if she didn't care. "I know you want to."

He looked at her, his eyes dragging slowly across her body and pausing on her legs, as if he knew what she was wearing beneath her robes. "Did you ask them because you were sleeping with them?"

Ginny couldn't help but smile, despite herself. "It's absolutely none of your business, you know. But I want my drawing back, so I'll tell you. No, I never slept with either of them." She laughed, feeling slightly silly and slightly bitter. "And as for-"

"I wasn't going to ask about _him_," Malfoy told her, sneering. "That I don't want to know."

"Yes you do," she told him, draining her bottle. "I can tell by the way you're looking at me. You might even want me, but of course you'd never want Harry's seconds." But the moment she said it, she knew she was wrong.

One of Malfoy's eyebrows arched so high it looked painful. "I don't give a shite about Potter. The fact that he's alive means nothing to me. I'm only glad that the Dark Lord is dead. So don't bring his name up again." His eyes swept over her. "Because it seems that you feel the same way about him that I do. And perhaps you shouldn't drink so fast."

"Perhaps you shouldn't steal other people's belongings," she managed to say, stunned at his perception.

"Touché," he said, an actual smile flitting across his lips before disappearing. "Another drink?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Possibly. It seems it's the quickest way and least dangerous to get to know you."

"This is not getting to know each other. This is interrogation," she informed him, taking the bottle he passed to her.

Malfoy finished the remainder of his first drink before opening his second. "You don't seem to mind."

"Why would you want to get to know me anyway?" Ginny asked, running her finger around the rim of her bottle. She had been suspicious that it was only to dig for information on Harry or just to hurt her. "I don't think we've ever actually spoken to each other."

"I'm sure we've thrown around a snide comment or two."

"I'm sure," Ginny said, laughing without meaning to. "But besides that. And stop avoiding my question."

"I'm the one who is supposed to be asking questions."

"You're good at this. But I'm not going to forget. So answer."

Malfoy looked at his bottle for a long moment, as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen and then glanced up at her. "Why wouldn't I want to get to know you? You're currently the single most interesting person in this place."

If Ginny hadn't of known better, she would have called the intense expression on his face lust or seduction or maybe even a smolder. But that was something straight from a romance novel. Surely Draco Malfoy wouldn't try to pull such a silly move on her. "Am I now?" Ginny nearly laughed out loud at her thoughts and shook her head. "And here I was assuming that you thought you were the most interesting person you knew."

"Oh I am," he answered haughtily. "But sometimes it's good to get to know other interesting people."

"Why'd you come back this year?"

"Why did you come back?" he shot at her.

"Because it's my final year," she told him calmly. "But not very many Slytherins came back to redo theirs. Just you and a few others."

"How else would I have completed my N.E.W.T.s?"

"A private tutor; same as all the other Slytherins." She could feel the weight of her drink now, the effects of it on her speech, her thinking and even her movements. Everything seemed just a little bit more entertaining, a little less real.

"That's not what you said earlier. Not because it's your final year," he said softly.

She swallowed hard, realizing that she didn't exactly feel sad or angry about Harry anymore. Just tired, possibly foolish. But those feelings would fade, she was certain. "At least here my mum isn't breathing down my neck, asking me how things are going with... him. I wanted to finish anyway, but as soon as I found out he wasn't coming, I knew I'd be here. Here I don't have to spend all my time avoiding him." She looked up, holding his gaze. "I thought you didn't want to talk about him."

"I don't. I want to talk about you."

She smiled wryly, knowing it was the alcohol. "Unfortunately for you, part of the answers to your questions involve him."

"Then we won't talk about those," he said smoothly.

That was a first. While she wasn't certain she believed him, it was still a relief to know someone out there wasn't interested in her history with Harry. No matter where she had gone the previous summer, it felt like everyone wanted to ask about him.

"You have lovely legs," he told her slowly. "I don't know why you insist on covering them up. You should wear more skirts."

She followed his gaze, noting that the bottom half her robe had fallen open. It didn't expose very much, but the look on his face made her blush. "Nice, Malfoy."

"My name is Draco. Feel free to start using it at any time."

The quiet, deep rumble of his voice made her blush deepen as she pulled the robe back up, ready to tuck it between her calves. Their eyes locked and in that instant, she could see that she knew absolutely nothing about Draco Malfoy. Nothing at all. Ginny finally managed to move again, securing her robes and sitting up stiffly, forcing herself not to squirm. "Did you, um, have any more questions?"

He watched her without answering for what felt like a lifetime and Ginny had to work to hold herself together under his gaze.

She tried reciting potions ingredients and when that didn't work, attempted making mental lists of everything she knew about rare magical creatures, but it wasn't helping either. She lifted her drink to her lips again, chugging faster than she meant to.

Ginny didn't like the way he look at her – fascinated, as if he had a secret or maybe knew something about her that he wasn't going to tell. His blond hair fell almost into his eyes, making it harder to figure out what he was thinking, and Ginny wondered what happened to the perfectly groomed person he'd always been. He was no longer wearing those hideous black suits that she assumed he wore in an effort to be more like his father, but looked almost like a normal person in jeans (that were no doubt ridiculously expensive) and a Falmouth Falcons shirt. Almost. She wasn't sure if Draco Malfoy could ever look normal, not with his skin that was so pale she would describe it as translucent and his silver eyes. And then there was the fact that he was a complete arse. And the fact that she was sitting in his room, getting tipsy in an effort to regain her drawing.

"If not, I should go," Ginny told him, finally breaking the silence as the logs in his fireplace crackled loudly. "It's well after curfew."

"You'll get caught," he said calmly. "Filtch doesn't rest during the holidays."

She couldn't help the nervous laugh that escaped her lips. "All I want is my sketch back, Malfoy. I mean Draco." She guzzled the rest of her bottle nervously and placed it on the table between them, wincing as it clattered loudly.

"Fine," he said stiffly. "You can have it. One last question."

"Okay," she said, feeling relieved. "What?"

"Would you kiss me?"


	3. Chapter 3

It was the last thing she had expected to hear him say. Never in a million years could she have imagined those words coming out of his mouth, and certainly they would never have been addressed to her. She wondered what would happen if she said yes. Would a group of Slytherins jump out and laugh at her, taking her picture and her dignity? Would Malfoy laugh at her and say no? Was it a set up? Or worse, would she like it?

"Yes," she told him, gathering all her courage and locking her eyes with his.

He nodded slowly, and for a moment Ginny wondered if all he wanted was the answer, not the kiss. She was almost ashamed of herself for the disappointment that washed through her. "Then come here," he said.

In that moment, time stood still.

Ginny stood to her feet, moving across the small space between them with the same faux-unafraid determination she used while giving oral presentations in her classes. Stopping in front of him, Ginny wondered if he was going to stand up or if he expected her to lean down. There would be no leaning down, she decided. That was far too close to straddling him, a thought that made her uneasy.

Before she could ask him to stand, he was on his feet in front of her, the space between them instantly nonexistent.

She felt his breath against her skin and despite its heat, shivers rolled down her spine, reminding her of the snowflakes that she had felt while drawing him earlier that day. Ginny was terrified that looking up at him would cause the moment to end, so she let her eyelids flutter downward and concentrated on just feeling. Suddenly she felt the ethereal touch of his hand moving across her jaw as his fingertips skated over her, and she sucked in a sharp gasp of air. That same hand pressed against the sensitive skin of her neck before his fingers tangled in the back of her hair gripping it just enough to get a reaction from her as he tilted her head back.

When Draco Malfoy's lips brushed hers, the sensation was so light and so brief, Ginny wondered if she imagined it. She peeked at him, discovering that he was so close to her if she blinked they might touch. Up close she could see that his eyelashes were much paler than the rest of him. They were lighter than his hair and longer than seemed fair for a male to have. Then his lips moved against hers again, and this time she remembered to kiss back.

At first his skin was light as feathers as it moved against hers and it felt so nice that Ginny didn't hesitate to drape her arms over his shoulders and lace her fingers together at the back of his neck. The kisses were soft, gentle and slow – pecks almost – one, then two and then three. There was a second of hesitation after the third one, and much to Ginny's surprise, she didn't want it to end. She let one hand explore the soft skin of his neck and moved the other slowly down his back, her fingertips tracing his spine until she reached the hem of his shirt, and without giving it any thought, let them disappear beneath it, savoring the warmth of his bare skin.

That was all it took to stir him back into action. His mouth found hers again, pressing harder this time while his tongue moved across her lower lip, exploring it before seeking out the inside of her mouth. A low moan rumbled in the back of Ginny's throat as she tasted him, savoring the sweetness of it. He tasted like his drink and like cinnamon.

The hand that wasn't tangled in her hair moved down to her shoulder, then across her arm, sending all the nerves in her skin into a frenzy of fire and desire.

She could have kissed him for hours.

But when he moved his mouth to her jawline, then across her neck and ear, Ginny let out a heated gasp that echoed the sudden blaze sweeping through her, threatening to consume her. She was more than willing to get lost inside that kiss, to let his soft lips keep moving across her skin, to let his hands wander over her, but as her fingers tightened against his bare back the fraction of a millimeter of space that had been between them vanished. The realization that she was pressed so tightly against Draco Malfoy – and enjoying it – hit her like a hippogriff to the chest and her eyes flew open.

The last time she had kissed someone it had ended disastrously. "Shite," she hissed, pulling away from him. "I have to, um…" She couldn't finish her sentence. Instead she bolted from the room, not even bothering to shut the door behind her. She didn't stop until she was almost back to the Gryffindor common room. Ginny allowed herself a moment to lean against the cold stone wall and catch her breath. She screwed her eyes shut, but the image of Draco Malfoy popped into her head and she was instantly lost in the memory of their kiss. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and listened carefully, mostly grateful that she didn't hear any footsteps behind her, then went to plead with the Fat Lady to let her in.

It wasn't until the next afternoon that Ginny realized that not only had she not gotten her self-portrait back but she had also left her entire sketchbook lying on the floor of Malfoy's room.

Ginny groaned loudly into the silence of her dorm room. She'd spent the day carefully planning her trips to the Great Hall in an effort to avoid Malfoy, so she wasn't about to go demand her sketches back. That could wait until she felt a little less humiliated. Three months ago she would have found the idea of flirting with Draco Malfoy extremely entertaining. What could have been better to torment Harry with? But, to her surprise, she no longer cared what Harry thought; the idea of tormenting him wasn't fun anymore. Harry would be around her family for the rest of his life and eventually, they could probably be friends again. It would be a few years down the road, she could handle that.

Ginny's plan worked for several days but on the fourth day after their kiss, Draco was in the Great Hall, sitting at the long table, his head bent over a book.

She was grateful that she had come down to the Hall with a group of Gryffindors, even if they were all younger than her and she barely knew their names. She doubted he would speak to her in front of them.

Not only did Malfoy not speak to her, he never even looked up from his text book and much to Ginny's annoyance, disappointment washed through her. She gathered her food, deciding she could take it to go, and left the Great Hall casually, despite wanting to run away from him again.

Heading straight for the classroom where the extracurricular art group kept their supplies, Ginny hoped the art professor wouldn't mind. She couldn't draw, but she needed the release that came from creating something new. She had only taken up art seriously a little more than a year ago. At first it had been a way not to think about what she'd done the summer before her sixth year and how stupid she had been. Everything was dark and angry, but the art professor had discovered her hiding from the Carrow's and commented on how good the drawings were. After that Ginny began putting more effort into what she created, trying to expand her emotions. She discovered that she couldn't talk about what had happened – or what was happening during the war – but she could draw and feel better afterward.

Ginny sank to the floor of the art classroom, inhaling deeply, trying to find the calm that she almost always received from just being in that room. She unwrapped her Cottage Pie slowly, trying to concentrate on her breathing. But even as she tried to focus on eating and not thinking, all Ginny could think about was Malfoy and their kiss, the fact that he still had her art pad and worst of all, how much it bothered her that he hadn't even given her a passing glance in the Great Hall.

The last thing she wanted was to develop any sort of feelings for _anyone_. Especially someone who wouldn't return them.

Dean had tried. Michael had too. Even sweet, quiet Terry Boot. But she just wasn't interested. Then, she had been so hurt and so ashamed of herself. Now, she just wanted to find herself before she even thought about finding someone else.

She pushed the half-eaten pie tin away from her, glancing around the room frantically. The cabinet that held the charcoal pencils she loved so much was locked, and she didn't quite feel desperate enough to open it with her wand. She wasn't even certain she wanted the charcoal since that was what had gotten her into the predicament in the first place. She grabbed at the jars of paint, lined up neatly along a ledge and dropped them carelessly into her satchel, knowing they were charmed not to break. Much to her frustration, Ginny couldn't find any canvases. If she used magic to unlock the closet where she suspected they were, the art professor would ask her what she had painted, and she had the feeling it wasn't going to be anything she wanted to share.

Ginny considered letting out a scream of frustration, but instead she picked up the satchel and hurried up the narrow, winding stone steps that led to her tower. No one ever went up there. It was the perfect canvas.

Using her wand to clean any dirt and debris from the round wall, Ginny stepped back, trying to decide how much of a canvas she needed. _The entire thing._ The thought popped into her head with no warning, but it seemed right. There was so much building up inside of her that she couldn't keep suppressed for much longer. Ginny lined up the paint jars on the ground in front of her, glad that magical paint went a lot further than the Muggle stuff she had worked with before. It was then she realized that she had forgotten brushes, but it didn't seem important.

Picking up the jar of white paint, she held it tightly and flung the paint at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it covered the walls, running down unevenly. _Perfect._ She used her wand to spread it, drawing the paint out until it concealed most of the gray of the stones.

She stood perfectly still, refusing to cast a warming charm despite the snow that was gently falling around her. She wanted to feel everything, and she tried to convince herself that if she would let her guard down, just for now, she could get it all out and over with. Closing her eyes, she attempted to sort through everything that was threatening to consume her.

Ginny reached down, grabbing the jar of black paint. It was a black that could have been taken straight from the depths of the Forbidden Forest it was so deep. It was a colour that light simply would not penetrate; instead, it absorbed whatever was in the area, taking it in and covering it, leaving nothing. There had been a time when she'd wanted to cover herself in it just to see if she would disappear. She held the jar for a moment, trying to see if it was the right colour for what she was feeling.

"Fred."

It was the first time she'd said his name aloud since the funeral and it hit her so hard she nearly dropped the paint. Ginny took the time to recover, certain that this was the colour she needed. She dipped her hand into the jar, letting the paint cover her skin before stepping up to the wall, using her hands to trace the outline of Fred's face. She knew that face so well she didn't even have to think about it as she painted, using wide strokes to complete his jawline, his nose, mouth, the outline of his eyes and then his hair.

She wasn't how long the process even took her, but when she stepped away to look at it, the jar of black paint was almost empty and Fred's face filled the section of the wall. Ginny tried to swallow down the lump that was heavy in her throat but it was too late – tears were already streaming freely down her face. Except for the eyes, the painting of his face that was taller than her looked exactly like him. She just couldn't bring herself to fill in his eyes and bring him back to life. It would be too painful. Instead Ginny left them blank and hollow so they could match the empty space his death had left inside of her.

Wiping her hands on her jeans with no regard for the paint, Ginny picked up the jar of red liquid and poured some of the paint into the black, mixing it gently with her hands until she could see the red swirled in with the black. She didn't want to mix it completely; there was no point with a black that deep. She wiped her hands again before reversing the charm that made the jar unbreakable. When the red swirled through the black just enough to look like someone had cut their skin and bled in the paint, Ginny eyed the blank space above Fred's face, aimed and threw the jar.

It exploded loudly, paint and glass splattering violently across the wall. As it began to run down, small streaks cutting through Fred's face, she froze the paint with her wand. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and stepped back to survey her work. The splinters of glass glittered in the dying light and even the snowflakes that fell seemed to be part of it, drifting down like tears from Fred's face. The red and black swirls looked like exactly blood and destruction and death; from behind them, Fred's face still peered blankly out at her.

Ginny sank to her knees, suddenly cold and exhausted. She'd gone to the Great Hall for lunch but now the sun was quickly disappearing behind the horizon. She sat still a moment longer, feeling better despite how tired she had become.

Art was only offered as an outside of class club at Hogwarts, but Ginny couldn't help wondering if she would be able to do something with it after she finished her schooling. While she wasn't sure if anyone would want to purchase a glass splattered portrait of her dead brother, she knew that she was good at what she did. Lying back on the cold stone floor, Ginny let herself think about Fred. She remembered the times they had ganged up on Percy, the jokes and tricks he had taught her, the magical shortcuts he'd shown her involving house chores, the petty arguments they'd had and of course, his death. It had changed everything. She had lost part of herself that day. Sometimes she thought it was a miracle that George managed to keep living without him.

When the sun disappeared completely, leaving Ginny in darkness, she sat up again, relief filling her. Now, she could move on.

No one ever came up to her tower, and there weren't enough students at the school for the holidays for her to worry about, so Ginny sealed the paint jars, gathered her wand and satchel, then hurried out of her tower.

She hadn't realized how cold she was until the warmth of the castle hit her. Just as she stepped off the winding stairs, she stopped short to avoid colliding with Malfoy.

He looked her up and down, running his eyes all over her.

Ginny knew she was a sight, with paint all over her clothes and skin, red eyes and tear streaks, but she wasn't going to let him know she cared. She simply side stepped him and kept walking towards the Great Hall.

The next morning Ginny woke just before the sun rose. She didn't know why, as she had stayed up late, tossing and turning while she tried to work out what she was going to paint next. While her mind tried to convince her that painting Malfoy was the next step, she wasn't so sure. She had no connection to him, nothing other than recent humiliation, so she couldn't see the point of adding him to her makeshift canvas.

Unable to fall back asleep, Ginny rolled from her bed to pulled on the same pants from the day before, noting that the elves had tried to get the paint stains out but failed, and tugged a cozy blue hoodie over her head. She yawned loudly on her way to the girl's loo, brushed her teeth and washed her face before climbing out the portrait hole, her satchel slung over her shoulder.

She sat on the floor of the tower, her back towards the painting of Fred as she sipped coffee. Somehow she had expected that with the night's sleep, his face staring at her from the wall would be less powerful.

It wasn't.

She chose to ignore it that day, but she still couldn't decide what to paint so she ate slowly, enjoying the waffles she had brought up for breakfast. Only McGonagall was in the Great Hall that early, and she had given Ginny a curt nod, asking if she was enjoying the holidays. Ginny finished the waffles but still no great art epiphany arrived.

Instead of sitting there wasting daylight, Ginny uncapped all the paint jars and stuck her fingers in them, running the colours across the lower stones, experimenting with blending. While she loved the boldness of the colours, she missed the simplicity of her charcoal. With the charcoal she had to work harder to make things come to life.

Ginny had just gotten lost in the rhythm of colouring the stones when she heard the door open behind her. She whirled around, guilt written all over her face. Magic could remove her work but it was still defacing school property.

But it was only Malfoy.

Ginny scowled at him before brushing her hair back and returning to her work.

Her concentration was broken; she could feel him behind her, watching her. She coloured in one more stone, dragging her fingers through the deep green paint to give the block even more texture, and then turned around to face him again. "Did you bring my book?"

"No," he told her mildly, looking at the blocks. "It's still in my room."

"Then what do you want?" She used the back of her hand to wipe at a smudge of paint on her cheek that she could see out of the corner of her eye.

"I came up here last night," he continued, stepping closer to her, "after I saw you in the hall. I wanted to see what you were doing."

"Now you see it," she told him crossly. "So go away." She cursed herself again for being foolish enough to kiss him. She didn't like being around him; it made her constantly alert for the impending punch line she assumed was coming.

"No." He turned his back to her, studying her portrait of Fred. He looked out of place in her mess of colours. His obviously expensive jeans were faded blue and his shirt was plain and black, standing out sharply against his skin.

_Just like my charcoal,_ she thought, momentarily dreamy.

"I thought I knew what loss was," he said, his voice so low she strained to hear him. "But I saw this and I realized I had no idea." He turned back around, but he didn't look at her. "This is good. Amazing even. It hurts just to look at it. How do you get all of that into paint? And glass?"

She just stared at him. "How could you know anything at all about loss?"

He tilted his head ever so slightly, meeting her eyes. "Your mother killed my aunt. I lost my godfather. And Crabbe. My parents are both in Azkaban. I've lost things."

Somehow, Ginny had managed to forget that she wasn't the only one who had suffered.

"I didn't love my aunt. She was completely mental. And Snape... he was different. But it was still loss. I didn't feel this though," he told her, his voice matter-of-fact, as he motioned to her portrait. "I don't ever want to feel that."

"I didn't know your parents were in Azkaban," she told him finally. "Is that why you're back here?"

He nodded curtly. "Not my idea. The Ministry's. I suppose they think they can keep a better eye on me while I'm here."

It seemed like the time to tell him she was sorry, but she wasn't. "Why are you talking to me?"

"I told you. You're the most interesting person here."

"Considering there are not very many people here, I don't think that's a compliment." She stuck her hand back in the green paint jar.

"I think you could be the most interesting person I've ever known," Malfoy said slowly, shoving his hair out of his eyes. "You're nothing like I imagined. I didn't know you could draw. I still don't know why you chose to draw me." A small smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. "And I had no idea you were such an amazing kisser."

Ginny fought back the urge to turn bright red. "And I have no idea why you would want to kiss me."

"And I have no idea why you ran out of the room and haven't even looked in my direction once."

"I looked at you in the Great Hall yesterday," she blurted out. "You didn't look at me." Ginny shook her head, running her hand over the cold stones, painting the green into a wider canvas. She wanted to be angry that he was up here interrupting her work, but instead she found that she was calm, suddenly relaxed. She could feel it now; the painting would take on a life of its own and go places she had never intended to explore. She loved that feeling.

"I looked at you," he told her, moving closer until he was standing right beside her. "I always look at you."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, dipping the fingers of her left hand into the jar of purple paint and rubbing her hands together, making the green of her canvas grow. "Aren't you supposed to be all mysterious and cold-hearted?"

"Aren't you supposed to be a good Gryffindor? Not one who goes around painting the walls of the school, kissing blokes in their dorm or making nude sketches of your exes?"

She let out a small laugh, mixing yellow into the center of her painting. "I suppose so."

There was silence as she lightened the green with yellow, suddenly realizing what she was painting.

"So why do you?"

Ginny was almost positive it wasn't the snow that sent chills rolling across her skin as he spoke. "Why do I what?" she asked, even though she was certain she knew what he was getting at. "You asked a lot of things."

"Why did you run out of my room?" He was still facing her new painting, but he was standing so close to her that each time she moved to paint the wall their arms touched.

"Because I didn't know why you wanted to kiss me. And because it just seemed wrong somehow. We don't exactly have a cheerful history, not with our family and our friends."

"But we don't have a history," he said persistently. "Not the two of us. Besides, it didn't seem like anything even remotely close to wrong."

"Is this some sort of set up?" she asked him sharply. "I swear to Merlin if it is-"

"No. It's not. I just wanted to get to know you." He took a small step away from her and if she hadn't been paying attention, she might not have noticed the dejected look that flashed briefly across his face. "Never mind."

"Can you blame me for being skeptical?"

"I suppose not."

"What do you want to know about me?"

"Right now I want to know what you're painting."


	4. Chapter 4

Ginny added a scoop of blue paint to the green in her hand, mixing them slowly. "Wanna help?"

He shook his head, his blond hair moving messily. "I don't paint. Plus it's cold out here."

"I'll help you," she said, feeling bold. "Unless you're afraid of getting a little dirty."

He gave her a smirk, a look that was more familiar to her than the half smiles she had been getting from him. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"I don't believe you," she told him, "but for now I'll pretend I do." Ginny picked up his hand, laughing to herself as the green paint immediately stained his pale skin. She rubbed the paint from the palm of her hand onto his before lifting his hand to the wall, guiding it as she pulled it down in long firm strokes. "We're painting bamboo."

"Bamboo?" he asked doubtfully.

"This is going to be the peaceful side."

They worked in silence and lost track of time, her hands guiding his as she chose the paint colours, mixing them in the palms of his hands and applying them with decisive strokes until she could see the foggy green-blues of a sky that blended into a deep green forest of vines and long, elegant shoots of bamboo.

"There," she said, stepping back and speaking only when she was certain that they were finished. She used her forearm to wipe her bangs out of her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think you just got paint on your forehead."

"That's a hazard of the job. I meant about our piece."

"It iis/i peaceful," he said sounding surprised and taking in the painting, which was a little taller than he was and spanned several metres. "You're good."

"You did this," she reminded him, digging a water bottle from her satchel and drinking deeply before offering it to him.

"No, you did. I was just your human brush."

Ginny laughed. "We'll call it 50/50." She sat down on the cold stones, staring up at their work.

He sat down next to her, passing the bottle back. "How do you do this? When I look at a blank wall, I only see a wall."

"Usually I just start with whatever I'm feeling and try to see what happens. Yesterday I painted my brother with that in mind. I don't do that often."

"Was it hard?"

She nodded. "Very. But I'm glad I did it."

"You really do have paint," he started to tell her, reaching out as if to brush it off her face. He stopped, glancing at his paint-covered hands. "I don't think I'm going to make it any better."

"It's fine. I don't mind. It comes off." She glanced over at him, studying his profile. His face was angular, almost sharp. His nose jutted out in a perfectly straight line, and once again she noticed how long his pale lashes were. There was a smudge of paint under his jaw. "Can I kiss you?"

He glanced at her, his silver eyes taking in the paint smears and the freckles, she was certain and she prepared for his refusal.

He nodded.

Ginny leaned over ready to touch her lips to his, but before she could move any further, Draco had cupped her face in his hands, pressing soft kisses into her mouth. She opened her mouth slightly, slowly pushing her tongue to taste the inside of his lower lip before letting it tangle with his. She forgot about the paint and moved her hands up his arms, leaning as close as she dared without crawling into his lap. The snow was falling harder now but Ginny could feel the heat radiating from him, and she was warm enough. She wanted to pull him closer, to stretch herself out over him and feel their bare skin pressed together but she didn't dare move in case she acted on those thoughts. Instead, she let her fingers move under the sleeves of his shirt, savoring his touch and his warm skin.

They worked together every day, painting the walls with their hands intertwined, and to Ginny's surprise, she found that she looked forward to meeting him in the tower early every morning and leaving with him in the evenings so they could eat while discussing what they might paint next.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," he requested one afternoon as they worked on a giant iris blossom she had insisted that they paint in the middle of what may or may not have been the galaxy exploding behind it in shades ranging from pastel pinks to a violent cerulean colour.

"That's just about everything," she said with a laugh, lacing her fingers through his to give the petals the texture they needed. "My favorite colour is green, I like to read Muggle books and I'm considering taking up Muggle photography as a hobby. I'm the youngest of seven and the only girl-"

"I already knew that."

"You did not."

"I know you were the youngest with far too many brothers," he shot back with a smirk.

"Did you know Muggle photos don't move? They stay perfectly still, frozen forever in time. It's so strange. It just captures a single moment and it never changes. It could all just be a lie but you'd never know. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I leave here. McGonagall said I should consider a career in teaching, but that's not for me. As much as I like the holiday season, I don't think they'll ever be the same, not without Fred," she said, nodding at the portrait that watched them with no eyes. "Maybe I'll go somewhere nice and warm and just draw on the beach. Hermione told me that Muggles can make a living that way. When they're in holiday spots they do things that the tourists pay for. They're called street performers. I think I'd have an edge because I have magic, you know?"

"Muggles?"

"They get by with no magic. They're interesting. I suppose I get that from my father. He was always fascinated at how they came up with such intriguing things." Ginny tilted her head up at him as she felt him shift behind her, his chest pressing lightly into her back.

"I don't know anything about Muggles," he told her unapologetic. "Obviously. My father wouldn't have allowed that."

"Maybe I'll tell you the interesting stuff. If you stick around long enough."

He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

The following day, she asked about him. "I talked about myself all day yesterday. Tell me about you."

"What's there to tell?" he demanded, his gaze focused on the yellow they were spreading from the center of the iris.

"There's lots. Like why you would paint with me. You never struck me as the messy type."

"I probably never struck you as the type to talk to you either, did I?"

She glanced up at him, pulling her hand away.

"I didn't mean that," he said quickly. "Not the way it sounded anyway."

"Then what did you mean?" She turned away from him, not willing to let him see the hurt on her face. They had spent so much time together it felt like she had known him for ages, but his remark only reminded her that she barely knew him at all.

"I mean that I had to spend so long," he said, sounding like he was struggling for words, "trying to please someone else. My father, the Dark Lord, my aunt, Snape, everyone except me. I spent the past two years trying to make sure my parents lived. I didn't have time to get to know anyone, not even myself really. But now I do. And..."

"And what?" she prompted, turning back to him.

"And I'm glad." He pulled her close, smearing yellow paint on her arms.

"Me too."

"If anyone knows what that's like, it would be you," he told her.

Three days before Christmas, they were steadily spreading thick layers of brilliant orange to the walls, dotting the landscape with dangerously crimson and yellow poppies.

"Why aren't you with him?"

"What?" Ginny stopped painting to stare at him, her stomach clenching. "I thought you didn't want to know about him."

When he finally spoke, his words were slow and careful. "I don't want to know about him. I want to know about you. When we were in my room and you told me about him, you were angry." He reached out to tuck a loose hair behind her ear. "I'm selfish. I want to know if there's any reason for me to act on my dislike of him."

It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying. "Oh." Her voice was smaller than she meant for it to be. "No. Not really."

He gazed at her expectantly.

She sighed heavily. "You really wanna know?"

For a long moment, Draco was silent. "Yeah."

She wasn't quite sure where to begin and what parts to leave out. "It was the summer before last. Everyone was at our house and I knew he was planning on leaving with Ron and Hermione. I knew they were planning on going off to find You-Know-Who somehow or another Also, I knew from spying on the Order that there was a really good chance he would die." Ginny swallowed hard, biting at her lower lip and staring at the orange paint on her hands. "I asked him not to go. I begged him. I thought if I gave him something better, a reason to stay, that he would reconsider. It was so stupid. I assumed that he would want me enough to stay and leave the saving of the world to the Order. For a week I thought I had succeeded. But then at my brother's wedding we got word the Ministry had fallen, and just like that he was gone. I didn't see him again until he was here, during the battle. It was dangerous for them, I know, but he didn't even bother to try letting me know he was safe or that he missed me or anything. When it was all over he was the hero and I wasn't in love with him anymore. I guess I finally realized that Harry was never going to be able to do anything just for himself. It was always the greater good and I wanted someone who was a little selfish when it came to me. It's silly and thoughtless and inconsiderate but for a while I wanted someone who would choose me over everything else in the world. I used to think that's what love meant."

"And now?"

Ginny glanced up. His eyes had grown dark, and while his expression was blank, she could see that his eyebrows were knit together in anger. "I don't know what I think now."

"I think you were right. It's not selfish. That's just the way humans are made." He reached out to tuck his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up. "I know how you feel about my parents, but they would agree with you – that's what love is. It might not have been the right thing but every single choice they made was to protect each other and me. If the person who loves you won't do that, then who will?"

She nearly sagged down onto the floor as relief flooded her. Never had she imaged being able to say those words aloud, and certainly she'd never dreamed there would be anyone who understood and agreed. She had kissed Harry on his seventeenth birthday even though he'd broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral. Ron had caught them, but that didn't stop her. Late that night she caught him in the hallway, tugged him to her bedroom and locked the door behind them. Harry hadn't protested. He never tried to stop her and in the days that followed, he came to her two or three times each day, whenever he could sneak away. She was constantly sore and it hurt and it certainly wasn't the type of sex they wrote about in romance novels, but Ginny wanted Harry to stay, so she let him have her all he wanted.

Then he'd disappeared anyway without a word.

It was easier to understand why now, since it didn't hurt as much, but it didn't change the fact that she'd fallen out of love with him.

"Now you know my deepest, darkest secrets," Ginny told him, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile. "I might have to Obliviate you."

"No," Draco said slyly, pulling her back to the painting. "I bet you didn't know that a Slytherin's best trait is keeping secrets."

The days sped by, faster than she would have liked. "We've covered almost everything," she observed on Christmas Eve. "And it's amazing."

Draco nodded in agreement, wiping his brow and leaving a long slash of blue paint on his forehead. He reached for his wand, casting another heating charm. "What are we going to paint when we run out of room? The floor?"

"We can," she told him with a laugh. "Do you still want to meet tomorrow?"

He frowned. "Of course."

"It's Christmas."

"I don't have anywhere to be."

She smiled up at him. "Good. Neither do I."

Draco ran his long fingers around the edge of the green paint jar. "Maybe when we run out of room, I can just paint you." His tone was playful, but the look in his eyes was completely serious as he slowly ran a finger up Ginny's arm.

They had spent the past two weeks painting by day and kissing by night, but nothing they'd done had felt as intimate as his fingers did in that moment.

"You look gorgeous in green," he told her quietly, moving his fingers to her neck. "I can see why it's your favorite colour."

Ginny stood perfectly still, letting him paint her neck and her arms, forcing herself to keep her eyes locked on him as he did. When she shivered, it had nothing to do with the snow. The heat that radiated between them as his fingers skimmed over her skin, leaving trails of green paint in their wake, should have been enough to warm her up, but she found herself trembling at his touch and realized her insides were already on fire. As Draco's hand moved to the hem of her shirt, Ginny swallowed hard. Twice before he had slowly explored the skin beneath her shirt, but this time was different. It felt like more than just an experiment between two sexually charged classmates; his fingers were so gentle, his expression nervous and vulnerable, his breathing so rapid that for a moment Ginny could believe that maybe, just maybe, he was falling in love. In that same moment, she knew that she was.

Summoning all her courage, Ginny pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the stone floor.

Draco hesitated, his hand splayed flat against her stomach as his eyes searched hers.

"Don't stop," she whispered, forcing herself to keep her eyes wide open, terrified of rejection.

Keeping his hand against her stomach, Draco reached for the jar of green paint and dipped his free hand into it. His hands moved up her sides, outlining her in green paint and then cautiously he moved his fingers into the V shape of her bra, tracing the edges and skating over the tops of her breasts. He continued to touch her, his fingers gentle against her skin until she could stand it no longer.

Ginny caught him by the wrists and tugged him closer, stretching up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Later that evening, after Ginny had pulled her shirt back on and they had headed down to the Great Hall for dinner, she was glad that no one seemed to care why a Malfoy and a Weasley ate together or why they were covered in paint.

That night, Ginny could barely sleep. She'd been reluctant to wash his paint off of her when she'd showered, but she didn't want to explain to him why she hadn't. She rolled back and forth in her bed, wondering why she couldn't stop thinking about Draco Malfoy. She'd liked Harry for longer than she'd ever liked anyone, but she now realized that the way she felt about him was so different than the way she felt about Draco. Ginny wished he was lying beside her at that very moment. She wondered if she would be brave enough to strip off all of her clothes for him and let him paint her body. She imagined standing in her tower, completely naked and exposed, his fingers touching her everywhere.

The next morning, Ginny opened the few presents that were sitting near the foot of her bed, more interested in getting to the Great Hall than in her holiday jumper from her mum.

"Happy Christmas," she told Draco brightly as she slid into the seat across from him.

"Happy Christmas to you," he answered, looking up at her, his expression cautiously blank.

"Did you open your gifts?" She reached for the eggs, scooping them onto her plate.

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I didn't get any."

Ginny froze before putting the serving spoon back in the egg bowl. "That's because I haven't given yours to you yet."

A tiny smile curled his lips. "Oh really?"

"Yes really," she said, even though she had no idea what she was talking about.

McGonagall and the other professors who had stayed behind greeted the few students as they trickled in, passing out Christmas crackers and telling them they would have a Christmas Feast that afternoon.

"Ready?" he asked as soon as she was done eating.

Ginny nodded, filling her mug with steaming water and grabbing another tea bag. She followed him from the Great Hall, down the hallway and to the base of the winding stairs, where he reached out to grab her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"What if someone sees?" she teased him.

"Then you can hex them," he told her, one eyebrow arched haughtily. "If I recall correctly, you were rather good with the Bat Bogey hex."

Ginny ducked her head as a warm blush flooded her cheeks. "Yes, well, you deserved it."

"I suppose so," he agreed dryly. "But of all the hexes you could have used, you chose that one?"

"It fit," she said as they climbed the stairs. "You were a complete arse. And I know you touched my bum on purpose that day."

He laughed, a sound she almost never heard but instantly loved. "Of course I did."

"Then I'm not sorry," she declared as they stepped into the tower.

Draco slipped his wand from his pocket, immediately casting a warming charm in all the corners of the room. "What are we painting today?"

There wasn't much room left on the stone walls. Nearly all the spaces in the round room were now filled with different portraits that seemed to lead to a full story. "You get to pick," she said, motioning to the empty space. It was as tall as Draco and equally as wide. "That space is for your story."

He looked at the wall for a long time. "I can paint anything I want?" he asked finally.

She nodded. "Anything."

"I want to paint you."

"Okay," she told him, biting down on her lower lip. "Do you want me to pose?"

"No. I want to put the paint ion/i you and then transfer it to the wall that way." He picked up the jar of green and looked at her, as if daring her to protest . "You said anything."

Ginny didn't want to object but she wasn't sure what to say. Her stomach churned wildly, as though she had eaten fairyflies instead of eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. "Um..." She sucked in a deep breath, wondering what this meant, if it meant anything at all. "Okay. What should I do?"

"Undress," he instructed, completely unabashed.

She tried to hide the trembling in her fingers as she reached for the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. As soon as she dropped it to the ground, she wished she had at least attempted to make the move look a little more sexy and a lot less like she was getting ready for bed.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked, his eyes glowing with interest.

"Yes," she said, nodding as her fingers fumbled with the button of her painted jeans. She pushed them past her hips, fighting herself to keep the blush on her cheeks from spreading down her body, as Draco stood still, watching her. If she had known this would be the day Draco would see her knickers, she would have picked something sexier than the snowflake printed ones she currently had on. She stepped out her jeans, unable to speak as his eyes traveled the curves of her body. She could feel herself redden, heat spreading rapidly across her face as she thought of him taking in every imperfection that she had. She didn't know he if wanted her out of her bra and knickers. She didn't know if she was supposed to do anything. iI don't even know what we are,/i she thought wildly, recalling her sketches of Dean and Michael. IMaybe he thinks we are just friends, that I do this with all my friends. I told him it was just art./I

"Stay like that," Draco instructed, dipping his fingers into the paint jar. "You're perfect. I'm going to start with your back."

"Okay," she mumbled as he moved behind her. Her back was tense and completely straight as she felt his fingers on her skin.

"Is it okay if I paint this?" he asked, moving his free hand around her until his fingers were resting gently on the very bottom of her bra, lightly grazing her breast.

"It's fine," she whispered.

Ginny lost herself in the motions of his hands. His breath was warm on her neck, tickling the sensitive skin. His fingers traced the length of her spine, spreading the paint before moving out across her back. She had never felt anything more sensual in her life, nor had she ever felt so vulnerable and exposed. It occurred to her that she might stop breathing, she might suffocate right there in an unused tower, all-but-naked for the person who had caused her family and friends so much grief and suffering, but she didn't care. It would be worth it. She would never be able to explain to anyone how two weeks with Draco Malfoy had sent her head over heels for him, how she had fallen for him with some sort of unfathomable, quiet passion, something that felt thicker and more stable than any way she'd ever loved before. She wondered if she would ever be able to bring herself to wash the paint off. She wondered if she left it long enough, was it possible for it to be permanently imprinted on her skin so that when people looked at her, they would think to themselves iThere was a moment when all she knew was love./i She wondered if they would know it was him, if they would see her and be able to read his name, painted by hand into her skin. iDraco. Draco. Draco./i

His hands had moved to her bum, slowly painting her knickers and then he was on his knees, covering her legs in paint in a manner that she could only describe as worshipful. His hands were splayed wide open, touching her thighs and her calves.

"Okay," he said slowly, breaking the spell Ginny would have sworn she was under. "Ready?"

She nodded, not ready to trust her voice.

He helped her to the wall, backing her right where he wanted her to be.

It was then Ginny realized that she'd kept her muscles tense and stiff then entire time, and she tried to allow herself to relax. "Like this?" she asked, finding her voice.

Draco didn't remove his hands from her shoulders as he nodded. "I'm just going to press you against the wall and try to do your hair. I'll try not to actually get paint in it."

Relaxing was a lot hard than it should have been, especially since Draco was now moving across the front side of her body, pressing little sections at a time of her into the wall. She watched him as he did, noticing the way he would bite the inside of his lip as he concentrated and the way his eyes seemed to paint her just as much as his hands had.

When he was done, he wiped his hands on his pants – something she was certain he never, ever would have done before her – and dipped one hand in the jar of red paint. Draco looked at her for a long moment, and then poured a splash of yellow into the red. He rubbed his hands together until they were not quite mixed before beginning to paint the wall around her head.

"Can I look?" she asked when he finally stepped back.

"No. Not yet. I still have to do the front of you."

This time it was even more sensual, if that were possible, because his hands touched the cups of her dark blue bra so gently and for one moment, she imagined that he was grateful to be allowed to touch her.

"Close your eyes," he told her when he was done.

She did as he requested, letting him move her back to the wall and press her body into it. She rested her forehead against the icy stones as she felt him painting her hair, trying to cool herself down. Even with the falling snow and the fading heating charms, it wasn't working.

"Alright," she heard him say. "I'm done."

"I can look?"

"Keep your eyes closed for just another minute."

She felt his arms on her biceps as he helped her step backwards. "Now."

Ginny opened her eyes. The green woman on the wall couldn't have possibly been her. The person on the wall looked amazing, real enough to touch, all curves and seductive lines. The hair, which was almost an exact match to her own, waved around her head wildly, somehow carnal and so enticing she wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it.

"What do you think?" Draco sounded almost nervous. She wondered if she would have noticed the tiny waver that hid underneath his haughty words three weeks ago.

"It's amazing," she told him honestly, tearing her eyes away so she could see him. "I can't believe it. I don't look that... good."

He laughed, putting an arm around her to pull her closer. "No, you look better."

He had positioned the two halves of her so that it took up the remaining space perfectly. "I wish we had saved room to paint you," she told him.

"No. It's perfect this way."

They stood side by side, looking at their creations and Ginny began to see the story in all. It had started with loss. She had lost Fred, and other people also – friends who weren't coming back, both by death and by choice. So had Draco. There was a long blue stretch of mourning, and then renewal. The two of them had painted almost everything together and she could see their tentative friendship blossom quickly into something more, just like the iris they had painted over the exploding galaxy.

Ginny reached over and put her hand in his, glancing up at him.

Draco leaned down to kiss her, and she no longer felt nervous that she was only in her bra and knickers, covered in green paint.

"I've been meaning to tell you how amazing you look in that shade of green," Draco whispered into her ear as their kisses quickly grew heated.

"Slytherin green?" she whispered back.

He had one hand splayed against her chest, cupping her round breasts, while the other tugged her closer. "I'm amazed that you weren't put in Slytherin," he said, his tongue flicking over her ear. "I'm quite certain that Gryffindor's don't deface school property or let Slytherin bloke's body paint them."

"Don't forget I also draw nudes," she said, trying to make it sound like a retort, but letting out a low moan as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Ginny reached for his shirt, crumpling the hem in her fist as she moved it upwards, trying to get it over his head.

He helped her, leaving it discarded on the stone floor, moving his lips down her body with no apparent thought to the green paint that was now smearing across him. Much of it had already dried, but it was still leaving snowflakes of green on his pale skin.

Ginny ran her hands over his bare chest, breathing heavily as she was instantly determined to touch, kiss, lick and suck every spot on his body.

But when she moved her hands down his stomach, her fingers finding the top button of his jeans, he caught her wrist.

"Ginny," he said quietly, looking into her eyes as if he could read all the way down into her soul, "do you want to come get your sketchbook? It's still in my room."

She closed her eyes, humiliated. Merlin, she had let her emotions run away with her. She had always been so good at keeping them covered, at thinking logically about whatever situation she was in. For reasons she couldn't even begin to explain, she had let her guard down with Malfoy, let herself fall for him, thinking that he felt the same way about her. Ginny pulled away from him, grabbing her jeans and tugging them up over her painted hips. "Um, no. I'll get it later."

He picked up his shirt as she tugged hers back on barely noticing that it was inside out.

"I have to go." Ginny had her shoes in her hand as she bolted for the heavy door.

"Wait!" Draco reached out, grabbing her by the arm. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going, I have to, I mean, I just-"

"What's wrong?" he demanded hotly. "Am I going mad? I thought something was happening between us here."

Ginny stared at him, confused. "So did I. But you stopped it. And that's okay. I don't want to do anything I would regret."

His expression instantly turned cold, but his grip tightened. "I'm something you would regret?"

"No," she sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Definitely, no. I was ready for whatever it was we were about to do."

He gazed at her so long she began to squirm in the heavy silence. "I really love being up here," he said finally. "It's beautiful and I get to be with you. But I assumed that if we were going to do anything involving both of us being undressed, you deserved a bed instead of stone floor. I don't really want to give your sketchpad back. That was just a reason to get you to come with me."

Ginny lifted her free hand to her mouth. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"Because you can't just put something out there like that. There should always be some…finesse." He scowled at her, making her giggle. "Because I didn't want to seem like I was just inviting you back to my room for a tumble."

"Is that why you're inviting me there?"

"Merlin, Ginny." Draco rubbed the back of his neck and as she watched, faint pink splotches on his cheeks began to grow brighter. "I would like you to come back with me but I don't want you to think that... And we've only been speaking to each other for a few weeks, but I feel..." He sighed, looking completely uncomfortable. "I won't ask. It's probably too soon."

"It's not too soon. And you don't have to talk in riddles with me. I'm not a Slytherin. I don't need finesse to be convinced of who you are and if I want to be with you, then I can. It's my choice." She bit her lower lip and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had become just as attached to her as she had to him. "I want to go with you."

Hand in hand, they hurried down the winding stairs, ignoring the looks of the few students they encountered in the hallways and tapping their feet impatiently as they waited for the moving staircases on their way to the dungeons.

Once they had reached his room, Draco locked the door behind them and immediately pulled her closer, pressing kisses all over her skin as he tugged her clothes back off. This time his fingers found the clasp of her bra, fumbling for a moment before it popped free. He slid the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, tossing it to the floor.

Her breasts stood out brightly, white and freckled and clean against the green paint that covered her. She was tempted to cross her arms over her chest, but Draco seemed to know that, and he grabbed her arms, pulling them down.

She removed his shirt for the second time in under an hour and was working on his trousers as he started nudging her towards his bed. Ginny tumbled backwards and he seized the moment, slipping his fingers under the sides of her knickers and moving them down her thighs. The gentle scrape of the fabric caused her to whimper, arching her back as he kissed her stomach. Draco pushed his own trousers off, kicking them to the floor as he crawled in on top of her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Ginny reached up and pushed his blond hair from his eyes, nodding. "I'm sure."

"Have you ever?"

"Not for the right reasons," she whispered, gripping his arms.

Draco's eyes searched her face, as if he were trying to find the reasons hidden there. "And what are your reasons now?"

"Because I want to experience life. I'm tired of fending off death. And I know exactly how I feel about you."

"How is that?"

She could feel him, hard and thick, gently pushing against her, sliding in her wetness. "I haven't felt like myself in a long time, but when I'm with you it's like you found the real me."

"Like you're not afraid to be who you really are." His words were a statement, not a question, and she knew he was referring to himself also.

"Like maybe I've wanted to know you forever, I just never had a clear enough vision."

"Like I've seen you every day for most my life and never realized just how beautiful you are," he whispered, his voice low and heavy against her fiery skin.

"Like I want to make up for all the time I wasted when I didn't know you."

He was pushing at her entrance and Ginny was nearly panting with desire, her knees drawn up around his long, smooth body.

"Like maybe," Draco whispered, sliding into her, gently pushing his way down into her tightness, "maybe I could be falling in love."

When she looked back on it, she realized there was no fear or nervousness, no discomfort as he gently drove himself into her, but right then Ginny was caught up in the moment all she felt was the wonderful fullness that came from having Draco buried deep inside of her. "Exactly like that," she whispered back.

They moved together uncertainly at first, but slowly they found a rhythm that made both of them whimper with pleasure. Ginny felt as if she was falling, falling for an eternity with nothing but a blanket of stars and Draco surrounding her, but she wasn't scared. She would gladly fall forever if it meant she could be with him. For the first time in over a year, she was happy. Their hands explored each other as they spread the sticky green paint all across their bodies and his bed, gently exploring each other.

Ginny used one hand to stroke his back, explore the muscles on his arms and stretch rivers of paint down the length of his spine. Her other hand she kept tucked against his neck, just under his ear, so that she could feel the reassuring, rapid beating of his pulse against her palm.

She drew her hand up his back, not knowing if she was dragging her fingers through the paint or the beads of sweat that were forming along his skin, and not caring.

Draco braced his hands against her hips and together they rolled over. Ginny paused, letting out a breathless groan at the new pressure that came from him throbbing inside of her. When she finally managed to gasp air back into her chest, Ginny opened her eyes so she could look at the man beneath her.

He was beautiful, she realized, and unfairly so. The narrow lines of his face were sharp and angular, as were the lean lines of muscle in his chest and arms; if not for the warmth of his body beneath her, she might have believed he'd been chiseled from marble. The long expanses of his perfect ivory skin were interrupted by streaks of wild green paint, but that paint had come from her body and so Ginny ran one hand up his chest as she began to move on him, leaving her own fingerprints on his flesh, the way he had done for her. Paint was everywhere, she realized. It spread between them messy and glorious, binding them together just as literally as the steady in-out motion of their bodies did. His fine black bedspread was going to be stained beyond repair. She could see paint in her own hair as she leaned down to kiss him, their lips brushing against each other as she rolled her hips. Beneath Draco's left eye was a slash of green that ran down to his jaw. Ginny kissed it, then kissed his neck and shoulders, leaving a trail.

The heat that roared between them was hotter than Ginny thought she'd ever be able to stand, but with Draco wrapped securely around her, she was confident she could abide it. She let go, allowing the red-hot fire, the paint and Draco to consume her completely.

And when it was over, they laid together, curled into each other.

iThis is what they write romance novels about/i, she thought drowsily.

"Now what?" Draco asked when they had caught their breath.

She looked up at him, her fingers against his bare chest. His expression was one she had never seen on him before – hopeful, nervous, vulnerable even. There was so much to consider. There was her family and friends, his family and friends, the bad blood that had cut deep between them for generations, and so much more that Ginny just couldn't bear to think about it all so soon after what may have been the best experience of her life. "Now, we just keep on," she said finally. "We find out where this path is going to take us."

"I think it's going to go somewhere good," he said finally. "I'm positive."

"Me too."

Late that night, after they had eaten their Christmas feast with the other students and Ginny had silently marveled at how different the world felt now, they sat together on her ledge, watching the snow fall around them.

"You still didn't get your sketchpad," Draco reminded her. His arms were tight around her waist and she was tucked comfortable between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.

"That's okay," Ginny told him. "I will soon."

"And I suppose you'll want your self-portrait back?" he asked dryly.

"No," she said, after thinking for a moment. "It's yours. That's your Christmas present."

He ducked his head, burying his face in her hair, chuckling. "I don't think I'll ever forget this Christmas."

"How could we?" she asked softly, letting the snow carry her voice to the four corners of the world. This Christmas marked the first time she'd felt alive since the summer Harry left. There was a future ahead of her, and while all she could do was hope it would be bright, it was her own. In that moment, Ginny believed without a doubt that everything would work out, in some way or another.

Draco's chin was resting on her shoulder. "Gin?" he whispered quietly. "I'd choose you over anything else in the world. Just so you know."


End file.
